


Give Me A Reason

by silentdescant



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Anonymous Sex, Dubious Consent, Flogging, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Public Sex, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Adam won't give Tommy what he wants, Tommy will just have to find it somewhere else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me A Reason

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write something that wasn't my lambliff big bang, so I went scrolling through prompts. This is totally off-the-cuff for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/profile)[**glam_kink**](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/) prompt of "Adam & Tommy have a vicous fight (they're not a couple, but there's sexual tension)Tommy storms out, he's furious, his whole atttitude is "Fuck you", he feels reckless, just wanting to let go. So he ends up in a underground club, a place has heard about through one of the tour crew. Sounds of pain & pleasure reach his ear as he walks through a curtain...there are no safe words in this place.It's perfect." The thread is [here](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/664.html?thread=118680#t863640). Unbetaed.

  


_It’s going to be okay_ , Tommy thinks. _It’s okay. It’s fine_. But then Adam’s shouting at him and telling him he crossed a line and Tommy doesn’t know what to do.

“I thought you’d be happy,” he screams back. He can feel the tears prickling behind his eyes but he ignores him. “I thought this was what you fucking wanted!”

“Don’t you dare lay this on me. You had no fucking right—”

“It’s my fucking life!” Tommy cries.

He turns on his heel and slams out of Adam’s room. By the time he reaches the elevator, the tears have started, and he wipes them away furiously. His fingers come away smeared with black and his face is probably a mess. He scrubs beneath his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to wipe away the eyeliner.

Tommy means to go back to his own room, two floors down, but instead he pushes the button for the lobby. It’s late enough that there’s nobody hanging around, just the staff behind the check-in desk, and they politely ignore him as he storms by. He’s out the door and heading down the street before he even decides where to go.

He spies the flashing neon light of a strip club down a side street. The last thing he wants right now is to have a bunch of tits shoved in his face, but it does give him an idea. He’d overheard Lane talking to the concierge when they checked into the hotel, and he’d been naming off all the clubs in the area that might… “suit Mr. Lambert’s tastes”. There had been a few that had indeed sounded like Adam’s style, but some of the places the man described had made Tommy laugh. One had made him blush.

Tommy steps out into the street and waves down a cab, rattling off the name of the club in a rough voice. The cabbie catches his eye in the rearview, but he doesn’t say anything. The drive only lasts a few minutes, and Tommy takes the time to shove a healthy tip at the guy. He’s pretty sure the man didn’t recognize him, has no reason to go to the tabloids, but… just in case.

As he steps out of the cab, he thinks of what might happen if the paparazzi did catch him here. He realizes he wouldn’t care. Any publicity is good publicity, right? And if they blame Adam, well, he fucking deserves it.

There aren’t any flashing neon lights at this place. No windows, either. Tommy goes into the lobby—it looks like a fucking bank. The hardwood floor is shiny with polish, and there’s an oriental rug in front of the desk, which has a marble top and a brass nameplate that reads ring the bell in elegant cursive. It’s not what Tommy expected.

He rings the bell. A woman with bright lipstick and a business suit comes out of the back room.

“May I help you?”

“Yeah, I, uh. I don’t know how this works. I wanted to…”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“The club,” Tommy says, blushing. “How do I get in? Is there like, a cover charge?”

She looks him up and down, assessing, and finally pulls out a piece of paper and slides it across the desk. “Give me your ID, read this over, and sign at the bottom.”

“What is this?” Tommy asks, but he’s already pulling out his wallet and handing over his driver’s license. He skims over the paper. It’s a safety waiver. “Is this for if I, like, get hurt or something?”

The woman leans over the desk. “People come here for very specific reasons. If you don’t have those reasons, do not sign this waiver. If you do sign, the establishment is not responsible for what happens to you on the premises.”

Tommy signs.

“You understand you can’t say no.”

Tommy meets her eyes. “I understand.”

She smiles and pushes a button to buzz the main door open. Tommy pushes through and is instantly greeted by the sound of screaming and leather against skin. He exhales a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. All around the wide room are people that look like they walked out of a cheesy porno, wearing skintight latex and leather body suits, masks and chains and corsets. But there are normal people, too. People like Tommy, in hoodies and t-shirts, and people in suits, and a woman in a slinky white ball gown with a whip in her hand.

Tommy looks around, suddenly nervous. He doesn’t know how this works, he’s not sure if—

“Baby,” he hears in his ear. Tommy whirls around and comes face to face with a firmly muscled man not much taller than him. The man holds a glass tumbler in one hand and reaches up to push Tommy’s hair behind his ear with the other.

“You look like fun,” the man says. “Come join the party, sweet one.”

He puts his hand on the back of Tommy’s neck and leads him further into the room, and it feels so familiar, Tommy has a flash of Adam’s hand on him, leading him downstage for his introduction. He shakes it off. The man brings him over to a group of people sitting around a raised dais.

“You nervous, honey?” one of the men says wickedly.

“Talk, slut,” orders another.

“Tell me what to do,” tumbles out of Tommy’s mouth without his permission. He drops to his knees, falling out of the first man’s grasp.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” someone says. “C’mere, boy.”

Tommy strips, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, and crawls into the man’s lap. He grabs a handful of Tommy’s hair and yanks him in for a rough, plundering kiss, and for a second it feels like he’s on stage. Tommy squeezes his thighs around the man’s legs and paws at his chest, opening for the kiss as much as he can.

“Pretty boy,” he hears from behind him. Hands pet his back. “So pale, so clean.”

The hands scratch him, hard; Tommy arches forward, against the man who ducks down to attack Tommy’s throat. He bites, making Tommy cry out, and suddenly there are other lips on him, other sets of teeth digging into his shoulder. Tommy squirms in the man’s lap until he’s pushes to the floor.

“Up on the platform, slut,” someone commands. Tommy gets his knees under him and moves toward the dais.

He sees the flogger come out; it gets passed around between a few of the men before one of them finally steps up and flicks it threateningly against his own thigh. Tommy falls forward on his hands and knees and bares himself for the flogger.

He’s not prepared for the pain. He always thought the endorphins would make it hurt less, but no, it feels exactly like he’s getting whipped with a bunch of thin bands of leather. It hurts, it hurts so bad, and he’s not sure how people get off on this, because he can’t even think beyond screaming for it to stop. He collapses down to his elbows.

“Jesus, fuck me, oh god, please stop, fuck me, please,” he cries. It feels like there are rocks in his mouth; he can’t swallow through the tears, and everything he says comes out garbled and incoherent.

“Pretty baby’s crying,” one of the men says, his voice laced with saccharine pity. His words slide into a laugh that sends shivers of anxiety through Tommy’s body. The man kneels and dips into Tommy’s line of sight to kiss him.

“You’re such pathetic thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, still chuckling. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“We’ll fuckin’ give you what we want, then,” another man adds.

The one with the flogger stops and someone else takes his place. He slaps Tommy’s ass, then reaches between his legs and tugs on his cock. Tommy hunches his back, driving his dick into the man’s fist—he’s hard, he’s so fucking hard, and he didn’t even realize. His back is throbbing, he feels hot everywhere, feverish, delirious with the pain, and he’s about to come.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants under his breath. This is what he needed. Something to take his mind off Adam and his stupid restrictions. Except… Tommy’s mind really isn’t off Adam and his restrictions, because that’s exactly what drove him here.

He feels someone push up against his ass, a hard cock through tight denim rubbing him raw, and he pushes back mindlessly. If Adam won’t take him up on his offer, well… Tommy might as well find someone who will.

The man behind him opens up his jeans and Tommy hears the others applaud. Then a cock is pushing between his cheeks, barely slick at all, forcing into his ass, and Tommy screams.

 _It doesn’t have to hurt_ , Tommy tells himself. _Relax. This is what you wanted. Take it, fucking take it. Take it like the slut you are._

“Take it, slut, fucking take it,” the man behind him grunts. He keeps pushing his cock in, and it feels like it’s splitting Tommy in two, it’s so much, it’s so big, it’s nothing like he expected.

 _You wanted a cock up your ass, you fucking got it._

That thought is followed closely by, _Adam would make it good for you._

“Fuck! Fuck,” Tommy cries, whimpering on every breath. His hands are clawing at the surface of the dais and he forces himself to stop. He’s not going to be humiliated by this. He’s not. This is what he wanted. He can’t help the burning flush that crawls up his chest and covers his face. He can feel every set of eyes on him, and he can hear every laugh, every jeer echoing in his head like Adam’s microphone when it’s set on reverb. Tommy chokes on another scream and falls flat onto his stomach.

“God! Fuck me! Fuck me, fuck, fuck, please, fuck me, goddammit!” He shouts himself hoarse, rubbing his cheek on the smooth floor, wet with his tears and his fucking spit, and then there’s a hand in his hair, forcing his head up, and Tommy gives up talking.

“Such a fucking slut,” the man who grabbed his hair tells him calmly. “You’re gettin’ fucked in the middle of a club, you whore, and you fuckin’ love it, don’t you? You fuckin’ love people watching you. You wanna be hit some more? You wanna hurt?”

“It hurts,” Tommy moans. “It fuckin’ hurts.”

“And you fucking love it,” the man growls, shaking Tommy by his hair.

He does love it, is the thing. His cock his hanging heavy between his legs, brushing the floor with every brutal thrust of the man behind him. His ass feels like it’s on fire—not enough lube, he guesses, or maybe not any at all. He doesn’t fucking know. He doesn’t even know if the guy’s wearing a condom or not, and right now, Tommy can’t bring himself to care. It’ll piss Adam off to no end, but it’s Tommy’s fucking life. He wants to feel it. He wants to be used, wants the experience, and if Adam won’t fucking give it to him…

“You gonna come all over yourself like a dirty slut?” the guy asks.

“Fuck, fuck, please, I want to come,” Tommy moans.

Someone forces Tommy up on his knees, and that brings the guy’s cock inside him in a whole different way. Tommy screams as the man slides deeper, and when he starts yanking Tommy down and back, fucking riding his cock, Tommy cries out on every breath.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes, please!” Tommy shouts.

“You wanna come?”

“You wanna fucking come?”

“You want to come, slut?”

So many voices, so many men in front of him, leering, taunting; Tommy doesn’t know where to look. He closes his eyes and lays back against the man fucking him, ignoring the searing pain that flares when his back comes in contact with the man’s rough button-down shirt.

“You wanna come?”

Tommy doesn’t get a chance to answer this time. One of the men slaps his cock, fucking slaps it, open-handed, and Tommy screams until he runs out of breath. He wants to curl in on himself, protect his aching, burning cock, but arms wrap around his chest and hold him back, upright. Tommy thrashes and squirms and it hurts so fucking bad, and the guy picks up his pace and fucks up into Tommy with short, jabbing thrusts.

The man comes a minute later, and Tommy can feel it, he can feel the pulse of it in his ass, but he doesn’t feel… wet, or full, or whatever he thinks he should feel when somebody comes inside his ass, so he guesses the man wore a condom. He pulls out and lets Tommy drop to the floor, face down. Tommy’s too weak to hold himself up; he drops to his stomach, legs splayed out and hanging off the edge of the dais.

His ass burns. It hurts more than Tommy ever thought it could. He feels stretched out and bruised, and his back aches and his cock is still throbbing and hot where it’s pinned between him and the floor. He rocks his hips down, pushing his cock through the slickness of precome that has gathered on the floor, but it’s not enough friction to actually get him off.

“You still wanna come, bitch?”

“Hey, pretty boy, look at me.”

“You got a fuckin’ tight ass, slut.”

All the voices above him sound like murmurs. Tommy blearily lifts his head and blinks through the tears in order to see the men clearly.

“You wanna come so fucking bad, then do it, boy.”

“Yeah, touch yourself. Jerk that fucking cock.”

“Please,” Tommy whispers. He’s not sure what he wants the men to do, touch him or leave him, but he knows he wants to come. Needs to come. He slides one hand beneath his body and wedges it under his dick.

“On your knees, slut.”

Someone drags him up by the hair. Tommy gets his knees under him and leans back until his shoulders hit the floor, then wraps a hand around his cock. The stretch in his back turns into a dull ache, and he focuses his attention away from the sharp pain in his ass and concentrates on getting himself off.

His cock his so fucking hard he feels like it’s about to explode. It only takes a few strokes before the men start chanting and laughing and egging him on, and Tommy’s chest stains red with another fiercely hot blush. He shuts his eyes and twists his fist roughly.

His come arcs across his chest and hits the underside of his chin, a large puddle of it settling in the dip between his collarbones. Tommy gasps through his orgasm and finally releases his cock and spreads his arms out wide.

Someone kicks him in the ribs—gently, compared to everything that just happened—and he rolls over onto his side obligingly. _I could go again_ , he thinks. He’s almost ready to beg for someone to fuck him again, or maybe fuck his mouth. Maybe hit him again. Maybe tie him up and force rational thought out of his mind.

But they’re pushing him off the dais. Tommy crumples to the floor with a shuddering sob.

“Get the fuck out. We’re done with you, dirty slut. You wanna keep playing, find somebody else. Get out of our area.”

“No—”

“We’re done with you; you’re not worth more than that.”

“Please—”

“I _said_ , you wanna keep playing, go somewhere else. Go upstairs, they’ll take any broken bitch up there.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Go away.”

“We’re done with you.”

Tommy curls in on himself and tries to muffle his sobs. Someone finally leans down and touches his back gently. Tommy looks up and recognizes the man who brought him over to the dais.

“Listen, kid. It’s your first time here, right? If you want more, go upstairs. The guy was right, they’ll take you up there no matter how rough you look. If you wanna go home, now’s your chance. You’re too pretty. Someone else’ll snatch you up. There’s a bathroom by the exit, you can clean yourself up there.”

“You don’t want—”

The man shakes his head and smiles. “We’re done with you. Can you walk?”

Tommy holds out a hand and the man pulls him to his feet. Tommy’s a little unsteady, but it’s not too painful. The man slaps his back and turns away; Tommy flinches. They all ignore him as he pushes through the group and bends down to retrieve his clothes. He makes his way to the bathroom naked, figuring since he was just fucked in front of the whole place, it doesn’t really matter if someone catches him with his pants down on his way out.

He stuffs his underwear and t-shirt into his pockets and just slips on his jeans and hoodie. He avoids the mirror, but wipes his cheeks until they’re no longer soaking wet with tears. His makeup is probably a mess, but it doesn’t matter. Nobody will recognize him.

Out in the lobby, the woman’s still there at the desk. She holds out his driver’s license. “Here’s your ID, sir,” she says pleasantly. “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

Tommy nods and doesn’t meet her gaze. “Thank you,” he whispers under his breath.

“You’re welcome. We hope to see you again.”

“Can I, uh, call someone?”

“There’s a payphone in the corner,” she says, gesturing to it. She turns away. The conversation’s over.

Tommy struggles with getting his wallet out of his pants and eventually digs out a few coins and dials a familiar number.

“Lane, it’s Tommy,” he says quickly. Maybe if he talks fast enough, she won’t be able to figure out why he sounds so awful. “I need you to pick me up.”

He gives her the name of the club, his cheeks burning with humiliation, and agrees to meet her outside. After hanging up the phone, Tommy stumbles out the front door and catches himself on a parking meter before he falls to the ground. He staggers to the corner and hangs onto a lamppost to wait.

Lane shows up several minutes later in the back of a cab and she climbs out to wrap him in a hug. “You okay, baby?” she asks quietly.

“I’m good,” Tommy replies. “Can we go back to the hotel?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Can we go, please?”

She sighs and leads him to the cab. They’re back at the hotel ten minutes later, and Lane insists on walking Tommy to his room. He gets her to leave without too much trouble once he’s safely inside.

There’s a full-length mirror on the closet door. Tommy takes off his pants and hoodie and forces himself to stand. It hurts to look over his shoulder at his back, but he suffers through it. Red marks crisscross his back, but none of them actually cut the skin. His ass is still throbbing, and he’s not sure what to do about that, but he’s not bleeding there either. His face is really the most disturbing; eyeliner smeared all down his cheeks and rubbed into dark circles underneath his eyes. His lips are bruised and his eyes are puffy and red from crying. He takes a breath and his lower lip quivers on the inhale.

His entire body hurts. His muscles are sore everywhere. He feels… satisfied. And he’s already craving another visit to another club in another state. Tommy presses his fingers tentatively to the bruise forming on his side. It throbs in time with his heartbeat and feels warm under his fingers.

There’s a sharp knock at the door.

Tommy nearly falls to the ground in his rush to get to the entryway. Through the peephole, he sees the angry set of Adam’s eyebrows.

“What do you want?” he asks through the door.

“Lane said she had to pick you up. Where the hell did you go, Tommy? Let me in.”

“No.”

“Tommy, come on. I want to apologize, okay? Can I please come inside?”

Tommy sighs and opens the door. Adam pushes his way in and lets it close behind him.

“What the hell?”

Tommy follows Adam’s gaze looks down at himself. Oh yeah, he’s totally naked. He turns around and grabs the hotel-issue robe off the bathroom door.

“Fucking hell, Tommy,” Adam gasps. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Tommy replies simply as he slips the robe over his shoulders. The rough terrycloth stings on his back, but whatever, once Adam’s gone, he’ll just crawl into bed naked.

“Something happened,” Adam says sternly. “You didn’t look like this before you left.” He catches Tommy’s chin in his hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine—”

“You were crying.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Tommy, were you—”

“No. Jesus, is it so hard for you to comprehend that I went out and got laid by somebody who _wasn’t you_?”

“Baby, you didn’t have to—”

“I fucking gave myself to you, and you turned me down. Now are you gonna apologize or not?” Tommy says, working hard not to raise his voice. His throat feels gravelly from screaming, anyway; best not to aggravate it.

“Tommy, I’m sorry,” Adam whispers immediately. “I didn’t mean you can’t live your own life. And… I do want to be with you.” He reaches for Tommy’s hands. “I didn’t believe you meant that for real, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tommy, I just… I do want to be with you.”

Tommy feels the sobs welling up in his throat again. He blinks rapidly, trying not to let the tears fall, and says, “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay? Just go.”

Adam leans in and kisses Tommy’s cheek gently. “I’m sorry I hurt you, baby.”

A wave of relief floods through Tommy’s body. He watches Adam turn around and leave the room, then he just stands there in the entryway for several minutes until he gets himself under control. Right now, there’s a comfortable bed and a bottle of ibuprofen waiting for him. Tomorrow, he and Adam will talk.

  
 _fin_.


End file.
